


Who's The Princess Now?

by pantykinksam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Caring Sam Winchester, Comforting Sam, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Frustrated Dean, Grumpy Dean Winchester, M/M, Teasing, Vacuum Cleaners??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantykinksam/pseuds/pantykinksam
Summary: Things go to shit for Dean when he clogs the vacuum.That's it, that's all this is.





	Who's The Princess Now?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what compelled me to write this.   
> I think I needed a break from writing so much dark angst between the boys.   
> Also, Sam and Dean arguing over a household appliances in the bunker? Sounds like heaven to me.

“Sam! Get in here!”

Sam’s in the kitchen when he hears it, far-off and distant but it’s Dean voice nonetheless, and as pissed off as his brother sounds, Sam wastes no time unsheathing his knife and booking it down the hall. He rounds the corner with his blade drawn just before Dean shouts out for him again, and Sam trails the sound of it to his brother’s bedroom, his door ajar and the lights flickering and Sam’s blood jams in his veins. 

“Dean!”

A grunt from behind the door and Sam busts through, guard up and on high-alert, and Dean’s hunched over on the floor, panting and gasping, pulling at the hose of their -

“Dean-?”

Dean tosses his head up, face flushed and sweat-shiny and he huffs at Sam, fuming. Sam tucks his knife away, hissing. Dean ignores him. 

“Fuckin’ finally. I need your help, damnit.”

Sam cocks his head, folds his arms airtight against his chest and whistles, low, shrill sound against his lips. Dean glares at him, makes a face of utter annoyance, his eyebrows all wound up on his forehead. He has so much dust in his hair that he looks ancient with ash, the wetter parts of him like his eyes and his mouth glaring out Sam in unmistakable bright greens and pinks. His hair’s a mess too, and everywhere, stuck to his forehead in a sweaty clump but static-shocked straight behind his ears where he’s run his hands through it a few too many times.

“This… was your emergency, Dean?”

Sam gestures to the mess that is Dean’s bedroom floor: six different Phillips head screwdrivers strewn across the carpet and a half-empty toolbox. Their vacuum is upside-down on the carpet and brutally dismembered, huge hunks of plastic with their screws missing thrown haphazardly around Dean in a ring of half-assed mechanics work.

“Hilarious. Right, it’s so fucking funny until you have to use the thing, too.” 

Sam’s brow cocks at Dean’s tone, but he leans back against the doorframe and crosses one leg over the other, this smug little smirk playing on his lips. Dean growls, dives for Sam’s leg with one open palm to grab it and pull him down to meet him beside his mess, Sam guesses, but he dodges him with a sidestep while Dean swivels on his ass in a cloud of dust, coughing. 

Sam cackles, rolling up his sleeves and settling down on Dean’s bed with his hands stuck fast under his thighs, giddy. He’s shaking with laughter when Dean pulls out a bottle, downs half a shot of booze without blinking and then dives back into his work, tugging at a coil and shaking more dust from the tube. 

“You called me in here - while I was making your lunch, by the way - because what, you broke the vacuum?”

Dean groans, great big melodramatic that he is and tears absently at his shirt collar, itchy and irritated, because the fucker is allergic to dust. It’s just enough to make Sam double over again, rasping and wheezing and he has to grip his knees to keep from getting punched in the gut for how loud he’s laughing. Like he knows what Sam’s thinking, Dean flips Sam the finger, bright red eyes bloodshot and burning. 

“Somethin’s caught, I think. Probably your goddamn lion’s mane, and I swear to Christ, Sam, I’m going to lose my mind because I can’t figure out how to open the damn thing, and I’ve tried everything. The thing’s defective.”

Sam grins, shaking his head until hair falls into his eyes and he has to sweep it away with two fingers. He shrugs and rises to full height to loom over Dean, get a better look at what his brother is working with. “It works just fine for me, Dean.”

That’s just enough to piss Dean right off again and he swats at Sam, missing again. Two specks of color rising in his cheeks and he tucks his chin into his chest and grumbles something under his breath. Sam sneers. 

“Huh? What was that?”

“I said,” Dean snaps, fumbling blindly with a nozzle, “If you’re not gonna help me figure this out, I’ll take a sandwich.”

Sam scoffs, jaw stuck open in awe, and he drives a knee into Dean’s back, blunt force that slams him forward into the vacuum canister. “Not your housewife.”

Dean howls, then curses, throwing his tools to the side and flinging his arms up into the air.

“I quit, I quit, it’s a friggin’ joke, anyway, thing’s a piece, of junk, and I-”

The room is really trashed by now, and if the floor was long past due for a cleaning before, now there’s stray clumps of dust and hair in the carpet, so thick in some places that the beige looks grey-black.

“Hey, okay, Dean, just- Really, calm down for a sec. I mean, it can’t be any harder than tuning up the car, yeah?”

The look in Dean’s eyes is merciless. Jaw tight and his teeth gritted, he growls, “Baby ain’t nothin’ compared to this.”

Sam holds up his hands, a white flag. Dean softens, shoulders slumped. 

“Alright, okay, hey, what do you want me to do?”

A soft, resigned shrug from Dean and he cracks his neck, scrubs a hand over his mouth. It leaves a trail of soot across his top lip and his eyes go wide with a sneeze, three of them racking his whole body. 

“Want you to fix it, before I break it.”

Sam chuckles, ruffles Dean’s hair and kneels down beside him in the mess. He grimaces at the dirt that clings to his once-white socks, but shrugs it off to beckon for Dean to bring the vac closer. A closer look and he smiles, falls into Dean so he can sit on his ass on the rug, neck of the machine on his lap. 

“What? What’s funny?”

“Nothin’. You just… uh, disassembled everything except the rollers. That’s what’s clogged, probably.”

Dean stares at him dumbly, his dirty face ruddy with a half-hidden blush. “You’re telling me I fucked this thing all to hell for no reason?”

Sam scrubs a hand across his neck, sheepish. “Yeah, kind of. It’s okay, though, you didn’t know.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Hey, hey. I can fix it. You’ve got lunch on the table, and you’re obviously not getting much done on your own.”

“No,” Dean snarls, “I’ve got it, I just - just show me what to do.”

It’s so fucking cute, actually, the way Dean tries to come down from admitting he needs it, especially when he’s in this deep, and Sam takes it for what it is, pressing a hand flat against Dean’s ear and curling him into his chest to kiss his temple, stroke his cheek. 

“You gotta unscrew the backing.” 

Sam crawls behind Dean and adjusts himself so his legs are splayed on either side of his brother, straddling him with his thighs. He offers Dean his flask from a few feet away and then props himself up on his hands from behind so he can watch him work.

“This thing?” Dean croaks, jabbing at the blue paneling screwed into the very base of the vacuum.

“Mhm…” 

Mouth at Dean’s ear, hot breath against the soft skin there and it’s just enough to make him duck away from Sam, grumbling. Sam sniggers, then dives for Dean’s neck with his teeth, brands him with a good-sized crescent on the meaty part of it.

“Christ, Sam!”

“Sorry,” Sam laughs, “Sorry.”

“Can’t get anything done with you all over me like this, damnit.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Are you complaining?”

It goes quiet again, and Dean fusses with the plastic barrier until it pops open, spewing more dust and dumping dirt and hair onto Dean’s jeans. He groans, his hands filthy and his pants wrecked.

“Take it easy, brother,” Sam lulls, taking it out of Dean’s hands and shaking it out to their left, far enough away so there’s not a chance his brother will find a way to get it all over him. And really, it’s a miracle he’s gotten so messy as it is, this whole thing entirely unavoidable if Dean would ever pick up directions.

“I’m trying, what do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re overthinking this. Look, give it a rest. Why don’t you go eat, and I’ll fix it up and do the rest?”

But it’s Dean, and Sam should have known he would be stubborn about this, no way he’d ever let Sam take over something so seemingly simple like this. Sure enough, Dean snatches the cover back and stuffs his finger into the backing, dragging out a mess of filth. It falls from his palm and lands at his feet and Sam shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I can do it, Sam.”

“Can you?” He says, doubtfully,

“Oh, fuck you.”

Sam shivers, wraps his arms around Dean’s middle and kisses behind his ear. “Can’t. You’re too busy fixing the vacuum.”

It’s enough to make Dean flinch, and his hands shake just enough for Sam to notice, unsteady as he tries to slot everything back into place, but there are screws everywhere, and it’ll easily take the most of an hour and all of Dean’s patience. 

“Yeah, well, it would go a lot faster if you would help.”

“Thought you didn’t want me getting in the way?”

“You can help without getting in the way, can’t you?”

Fair enough. Sam scoots back to reach for a screwdriver, scooping up a handful of screws on the way, and shuffles back to Dean to place them in his open and waiting palm. 

“Little ones go on after the big ones,” he adds, smirking because Dean’s all riled up as it is, so what’s a little more?  
“Yeah, I got that, princess.”

It takes Dean a little under a minute to put the first few in, and Sam goes in to help with a second screwdriver but he’s pawed away again, Dean worrying away at his bottom lip with his teeth. He’s got his eyes deadset and watery on the canister he’s somehow twisted on the wrong way, and Sam guides him with one hand, slots it into place and squeezes Dean’s hip when he gets it right, always gentle, encouraging.

“Not a baby, Sam.”

“I know that.”

“You treat me like you don’t.”

Sam notes the way Dean’s eyes water at the corners, nose red and runny and ears burning but that might just be the frustration working. He thumbs his way across Dean’s cheek and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“Allergies?”

“Fuckin’ allergies.” Dean nods, blinking away what runs off the ends of his eyelashes. 

“You’re almost done. Hey, just put that hose back into the - right there, exactly. And see, now you’ve just got -”

“A thousand friggin screws to put back on. Jesus, I mean, how secure does a vacuum really need to be?”

Sam frowns, stares at a particularly fat piece of fuzz sticking up in Dean’s hair. He blows at it, feather-light and hopeful that Dean doesn’t notice, but it’s to no avail because his hand flits up to pat his hair down, squinting at Sam.

“It really doesn’t. We don’t have to put them all back in, if you don’t want.”

“We probably should, right?”

Sam shrugs. “Unless you want to wait for your lunch, we’ve got no reason to.” 

Dean eyes him warily. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“What?” Sam coughs, sniffs once then looks away. “Dean, it’s no big deal, I swear.”

A wave of his hand like he’s trying to hurry him off and Dean dismisses him. “No, you know what, it’s fine, I get it. You go eat. Didn't mean to, uh."

A small smile against Sam’s lips and he drags a hand across Dean’s cheek, burning skin against his palm. He kisses him, drawn out and slow, soft bite to Dean’s bottom lip and when he pulls away, he’s smiling. 

“Dean, really. It’s fine.”

“Maybe I should just sweep this up, instead.”

“Gimme that.” 

Dean hands him the coil and he jiggles it back into the hole it was fastened to. He works the filter back in after that, wiggling his eyebrows at Dean, who looks fascinated.

“Look, see? All done.”

Big bright smile and it warms Dean up a little, makes him a little less tense in the jaw and the color drains a little more, watching Sam carefully like he’s worried he’s say something about this, maybe emasculate him a little, but Sam just grins.

“Uh, thanks.” Dean grunts, tugging at his shirt sleeves. 

A minute later, and then Sam can’t resist, swooping down to dive for Dean’s lips and catching them on an inhale, just before he helps haul him to his feet. Dean makes a sound of protest as he’s hoisted off of the floor, dust catching on his lashes and greying their color.

Sam gets up real close, nose-to-nose so their foreheads are smashed together. 

“Who’s the princess now?” 

Dean darkens again, freckles like spotlights on his reddening face. “Oh, you bitch!”

Sam hoots, lunges for the door and darts to the kitchen, Dean on his heels, and no one’s cleaning up the trainwreck that is Dean’s entire bedroom but Sam will deal with it later, when Dean’s a little less hyper-focused, maybe. 

And when Dean pins him against the counter? All hot and angry and panting? Sam pretty much forgets about mess in the room and the soot in Dean’s hair and the lunch on the table altogether.


End file.
